The Art of Seduction Through Philosophy
by Ruthibobs
Summary: Combeferre had never paid much heed to romance and girls. He simply did not see the point in them, he would explain patiently, and had once famously told Courfeyrac that "contrary to a popular belief in ancient Greece, lack of sex does not kill you or impede your health or life in any way whatsoever, therefore I do not see why I have to have it". Part of the Compatibility AU.
1. Rachael

**A/N: So I'm loving Combeferre's character atm, and decided that a fic just for him could be cool. This starts before Compatibility, then carries on into the five year gap, ending before Enjolras comes back.**

* * *

Combeferre had never really paid much heed to romance and girls, figuring that relationships (bar friends and family of course) were unnecessary and rather unimportant in the grand scheme of things, at least for himself they were. His complete innocence in the matters of love were an almost constant source of exasperation for some friends (namely Courfeyrac) and a subject for teasing from others (mostly Bahorel and again Courfeyrac, but Grantaire and Feuilly were known to join in also). He simply did not see the point in them, he would explain patiently, and had once famously told Courfeyrac that "contrary to a popular belief in ancient Greece, lack of sex does not kill you or impeed your health or life in any way whatsoever, therefore I do not see why I have to have it". That, as you can guess, had not gone down well.

All of this added up to one thing: when it came to beautiful girls and flirting, Combeferre was about as dense as you could possibly be.

Even Enjolras had started just dating for the first time a couple of weeks before, and Combeferre was starting to feel betrayed by the friend who had always agreed on every rant about how sex was overrated, when he set off for lectures that morning. He'd barely left their street when the girl had run up to him, panic written clearly all over her face.

"Please help," she gasped, brushing her hair up out of her eyes so she could see him clearly. "I'm seriously lost, and in deep shit if I can't find my way soon."

"Where are you looking for?" he inquired, pulling the creased map of the town out of her hands.

"King George's Building. My first lecture of the day is in there and although it seems easy enough to find on the map, I just can't find it!"

"That's because you're looking in the wrong place," Combeferre explained. "St George's Building is on this road, but that's part of the Student Union so you definitely don't want there at the minute. Look, I'm headed to King George's as well, I can give you a lift if you want. That is, if you're not scared I'm some sort of murdering mad man intent on kidnapping you." He grinned at her, gaining a laugh. "Which I can assure you I'm not. But it's about a fifteen minute walk to that part of campus, and most lectures there start in five minutes. Plus it can be hard to find the correct building as it's hidden behind the archaeology labs."

"In which case, I gratefully accept the lift," she smiled.

"You don't strike me as the philosophy type," he commented once they were in his car and he was driving through town.

"Oh, I'm a theology student really, only we have to take some philosophy modules as part of the course. Hence why it's November and I don't know where the building is. I take it you're doing philosophy though?"

Combeferre nodded. "Yeah, second year."

"Is that really the number of books second years have?" she asked worriedly. "Because it's more than double mine."

Combeferre couldn't help but laugh.

"No, I just like reading. Most of these need returning to the library later today."

"That makes a lot more sense." Getting out of the car as soon as it was parked, the girl followed Combeferre down a couple of alleys before he stopped in front of a Tudor house.

"Welcome to the philosophy department," he announced.

"Thank you," she said sincerely, an honest smile crossing her face. "Oh! I'm Rachael by the way. Rachael Canavan."

"Combeferre Nix."

"See you round Combeferre." And with a small wave she disappeared inside the building, leaving Combeferre standing alone outside for a moment.

"Dammit," he muttered, shaking his head quickly before following her in. "Don't be a sentimental idiot with this."

* * *

Two weeks later, Combeferre and Courfeyrac were leaving the Musain to head home when he saw her again on the other side of the street. Although he said nothing Courfeyrac noticed the difference, being an expert in all matters of lust and seduction.

"I'm impressed," he murmured. "I swear this is the first time I have ever seen that look on your face before."

Before Combeferre could ask anything, a frown only just having had enough time to crease his forehead as he turned his head to look at his friend, someone had walked into him and his books were all over the street.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry!" the girl who'd walked into him cried, immediately dropping to her knees to start picking up the books she'd caused Combeferre to drop. "I wasn't watching where I was walking, it's all my fault, I really am sor- Oh! Hey Combeferre!" Looking down with a bemused expression, Combeferre blinked when he realised it was actually Rachael.

"Oh, hi." He bent to help her, taking the books out of her hands before placing a hand under her elbow and pulling her up with him. "It's fine about the books, really. I should have them in a bag anyway."

"Let me guess, another library visit?" she teased and he nodded, blushing slightly.

Courfeyrac stood to one side watching the exchange of words with a look of disbelief clear on his face. "Oh good god Combeferre's got a girlfriend," he mumbled, too quiet for either to hear what he was saying properly.

"This is my friend Courfeyrac," Combeferre introduced quickly so he wouldn't seem rude. "Courf, this is Rachael. I helped her out when she couldn't find King George's the other week."

"Oh yeah, I remember you mentioning it now." The flirt held out his hand with a beam. "Hi, pleasure to meet you."

"You too." Turning back to Combeferre, she smiled flirtily. "So what are you reading?"

Courfeyrac let them talk for a few moments, Combeferre enthusing over one of his books whilst Rachael listened intently, before interrupting, grabbing Combeferre's arm.

"Excuse us one moment," he said quickly, dragging his friend away.

"What do you want?" Combeferre sighed, dreading the thoughts that he knew were going through his friend's head.

"Ask her out," Courfeyrac hissed, glancing back to where Rachael was waiting. "She's clearly interested in you or she wouldn't have stood there and listened to you talk about that bloody book without complaining or falling asleep. Hell, I was drifting off myself and I'm your friend."

"I am not asking her out," Combeferre gritted out, eyes flickering over to her automatically as he spoke. "You know I don't do relationships Courf."

"You can't take your eyes off her."

"And? She's beautiful, so what? Lots of girls are, doesn't mean I ask them out."

"You never talk to anyone about your precious books."

Combeferre had to admit that Courfeyrac had a point.

"...I don't know what to say."

"Just ask her if she'd like to have a drink sometime, or maybe dinner. Bring up the subject of films, find out if there's anything she'd like to watch. Or I can go over there and ask her out for you."

"What do you think I am, a teenage girl?" Combeferre snapped, trying to straighten his hair without being too obvious about it before heading back over to join Rachael. "So I was wondering," he started nervously, biting his lip as he built up the nerve, "if you'd like to have dinner with me sometime."

"I'd love to," she smiled, flicking her hair out of her face. "When were you thinking?"

"Are you busy tomorrow night?"

"Does seven sound okay?"

He grinned. "Perfect. If you give me an address, I'll pick you up beforehand?"

Taking a book from him which he'd mentioned as his own Rachael opened it to the title page and jotted down an address and number. "See you then," she smirked as she handed it back, leaning up and kissing his cheek, waving over her shoulder as she walked off. Sensing Courfeyrac at his shoulder Combeferre managed to drag his eyes off her and over to his friend.

"Happy now?"

* * *

"Does this shirt look okay?"

"Dude, you've been dating the chick for two months. You don't have to try and impress her anymore," Grantaire mumbled from his place tucked up next to Enjolras on the sofa. "You aim to impress until you've fucked them. After that, so long as the sex is good they don't really give a shit."

"It's a new shirt and I want to know if it looks okay," Combeferre repeated, hoping that his oldest friend would reply instead this time. The blonde gave him a cursory look before turning his attention back to the newspaper he was reading.

"You look fine," he told him.

"Are you sure?"

Enjolras paid attention this time only because Grantaire had sat up and was staring at Combeferre.

"Oh my god you haven't done it yet. That's why you're so desperate to know how it looks."

"Shut up," the philosophy student muttered, turning almost as red as Enjolras's hoody.

"I'll tell you one thing, you won't have to wait much longer wearing that shirt." Grantaire whistled, long and low. "Damn 'Ferre, but wearing that even I gotta admit you like hot. If you weren't straight and I didn't have a boyfriend..."

"You may want to swap those two statements around when said boyfriend is in the room," Enjolras pointed out.

"So it looks good?"

"Hell yes," was the artist's only reply.

"Does she know you're a virgin still?" Enjolras asked bluntly, and Grantaire stared at Combeferre in shock, mouth opening slightly.

"No!" he squealed, regretting ever making the noise the instant it left his mouth. "Grantaire, don't you dare say a thing!"

"Well won't that go well when she tries to jump you," the blonde commented dryly, going back to reading his paper again.

"I gotta go," Combeferre said quickly when he saw Grantaire opening his mouth to say something. "Bye!"

"What did we miss?" Courfeyrac demanded when he and Jehan entered the room a few seconds after Combeferre had dashed out, only narrowly missing knocking them over.

"Nothing," Enjolras said firmly, glaring at Grantaire when he opened his mouth to tell them all the sordid details. Under his breath, he issued a small warning to his boyfriend. "If you want to ever have sex with me again, I would think twice about telling them anything about the conversation we just had with 'Ferre."

Grantaire's mouth shut instantly.

* * *

Rachael let out a low sigh of appreciation when Combeferre's mouth moved to her neck, hands stroking her sides lightly as he sucked and nipped lightly at a spot. The moan that escaped her lips when he ghosted over a sensitive spot on her collarbone, not helped by how she arched her body up into him, turned him on even more and he was almost embarrassed by how quickly he felt his trousers tighten. Although Combeferre did his best to angle his hips away from her, Rachael could feel the erection and pressed the heel of her hand against it, eliciting a gasp from her boyfriend.

"I can tell you want me," she breathed into his ear, rubbing her hand against him until his hips bucked automatically. "And it's been two months. Will you please just fuck me?"

"It's... complicated," he murmured, voice catching when she nipped at his ear lobe.

"It doesn't have to be."

Catching her hands as they started on his belt, he sighed when her eyes met his, a hurt look in them.

"I... I've never done this before," he whispered, glancing away.

"Seriously?" Reaching up she traced a path lightly down his face. "As in, never?"

"No."

The embarrassment in his eyes was obvious.

"I've never been with a virgin before," she murmured, leaning up to kiss him lightly. "I'm guessing you're not quite ready yet."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be." The twinkle in her eyes was mischievous as she pulled him down into a long languid kiss. "I'm willing to wait until you are."

"Thank you." The mumble was so quiet Rachael wasn't even sure she'd heard him, but Combeferre meant it from the bottom of his heart.

* * *

Four months into the relationship, Combeferre was finally ready. He didn't have the nerve to tell Rachael, instead just accepting her offer for a coffee at her dorm after their dinner. Them falling onto her bed or his sofa, depending which flat they were at, was a regular occurance during dates, and his shirt often ended up on the floor though they never made it past making out. This night though, things were going to be different.

Rachael made no fuss when Combeferre started to unbutton her blouse, simply shrugging it off once he'd finished then inching forwards on the bed, straddling his lap instead of the pair sitting facing each other. As he kissed a slow trail down her neck she rocked slowly against him, earning a hitched breath and a hand gripping her hip tightly. When he unfastened her bra (a task which he was pleased went incredibly well for it being his first time) she seemed to realise what was going to happen and kissed him passionately, one hand fisting in his hair whilst the other slipped down to his belt.

Once all clothes were out of the picture and they were actually lying on the bed together, Combeferre had to fight down the nerves and worries of "what if he wasn't any good at sex?", instead simply acting by instinct and trusting it to guide him well. Rachael had never been more beautiful, he decided as he moved above her, and he finally understood why his friends had laughed off all his previous comments on how sex was unnecessary as the orgasm swept over him.

"I love you," he gasped into her neck as he came down from the feeling, the words slipping out without him even realising. Laughing quietly, Rachael kissed his cheek and curled up against his side when he rolled off her.

"It's still a little early for the declarations," she said with a small smile, and Combeferre nodded, his mind agreeing even if his heart was shouting something else.

* * *

As summer reached them, late as normal, and it was finally pleasant enough weather to be outside for longer than five minutes, the couple's free time was spent in the park or Combeferre's garden, picnicing whilst studying or just reading for pleasure, occasionally playing games or, most often, make-out sessions which resulted in them moving desperately for a private place, still held together through kisses if possible.

It was on one of these sunny days when it next happened. Combeferre was leaning against a tree with Rachael lying next to him, head in his lap and his hand stroking her softly whilst he read to aloud to her, when he suddenly stopped. Placing the book down onto the grass beside him, he studied her face for a moment.

"What is it?" she asked, pushing herself up onto one elbow so she could better see his face.

"I love you."

The words were soft and quiet but still firm enough that she believed it, and Rachael lent forwards to kiss him, her free hand cupping his cheek as she did so. The kiss deepened as he pulled her closer and they stayed that way until Grantaire threw a pillow at them from Enjolras's window.

"Find a room," he called down, smirking at the glare he was given by his friend. "Only not this one, it's taken."

"Was that my pillow?" Enjolras could be heard to snap in the background, and Combeferre smiled at his friend's antics before scooping Rachael up into his arms bridal style, making her laugh as he carried her indoors and up the stairs to his bedroom before any different noises from his friend's room left through the open window.

"I mean it," he told her that night, Rachael's head pillowed on his chest and both still breathing heavily. "I do love you."

"I know," she said softly, kissing his collarbone tiredly. "I'll see you in the morning 'Ferre. Night."

"Night," he whispered, wondering when she would be ready to say those three small (yet so important) words back.

* * *

Over the course of the next few months he found himself saying those words more and more often, generally during sex but occasionally at other random times. Rachael always replied with a smile and a soft kiss but Combeferre did sometimes wonder if that was enough.

"I love her, I know this, she just never says it back," he complained to Jehan one day, hoping the poet would understand. "And it probably doesn't help that I'm having to cancel dates to look after Grantaire whenever he's in a bad way, because for some crazy reason he refuses to talk to or listen to anyone else. Not that he really listens to me at the end of the day. But what can I do? Every time I tell her I love her, she just kisses me."

"Maybe she has commitment problems," Jehan suggested, mulling the problem over. "Or thinks she's too young to be in love. Or, quite possibly, her kissing you is her way of saying it. Like in Ghost, when Patrick Swayze's character says "Ditto"."

"That isn't really that much help," Combeferre sighed, resting his head in his hands.

"You may have missed her saying it." His head shot back up at that and he stared over at where Courfeyrac was standing in the doorway. "You know, she could have said it during sex or something, and you just missed it."

"Or she just doesn't love you like you love her," Grantaire pointed out from behind Courfeyrac, his cynical side poking through again.

"Not helping 'Taire," Combeferre snapped in reply, but Grantaire simply shrugged and vanished off into the house again.

"Just give her time," was Jehan's final suggestion.

* * *

Missing lectures was annoying, Combeferre decided that evening as he copied up the notes of Hugo Crane, a friend of two years who had sat next to Combeferre in every single lecture since their very first together. He had had a valid reason for his truancy though - Grantaire's panic attacks had become less and less common as he fought his way through the withdrawal and the months passed, but they were by no means any less dangerous when they did occur - and at least Hugo's notes were clear and thorough.

"I'm just off to drop Hugo's notes off," he called up the stairs to where he could hear his housemates playing cards in the lounge, heading for the door when he heard their cries of acknowledgement followed by a loud "Bullshit!" from Feuilly. The winter wind was cruel as he opened the door but couldn't be helped, and he managed to fight his way valiantly to his friend's flat, grateful that he'd been giving a key and wouldn't be left hanging around on the doorstep.

Once inside the flat, his gratitude at this fact vanished.

The moaning was obvious the second the door opened and Combeferre regretted stepping inside the moment he had done so, the sex taking place on the sofa drawing his gaze immediately. What he saw however was not only scarring, but also heartbreaking.

"You bastard!"

For the first time in his life Combeferre hit a man, knocking Hugo down almost as soon as he was on his feet. Rachael shrank into the sofa, unable to meet Combeferre's eye as he stared at her questioningly and he eventually shook his head sadly, disgusted by them both.

No other words were spoken as he turned and ran from the building, fleeing blindly in his attempt to just get away from them both. When Combeferre reached the nearest park he curled himself up into the corner of a bench and gave up trying to wipe the tears away, instead letting the sobs escape and rip through his body. For while Combeferre had once thought he would never cry over anything like a girl or a relationship, he really had come to love Rachael, and her betrayal had successfully broken his heart.


	2. Interlude One

The rain had started soon after Combeferre had reached the park but he ignored it, simply curling up even further and allowing the rain to blend with the tears already staining his cheeks. After a few hours (he had lost track of time early on) he stood shakily and made his way home, stopping in the doorway when he saw how many people were in the house.

"Jesus Christ 'Ferre you're okay!" Eponine squealed, throwing herself down the stairs and her arms round him, hugging him tightly. Combeferre just stood there, looking round at them all.

"Little late for a social call isn't it?" he said softly, too emotionally drained to bother trying to pretend he was happy to see them.

"Dude, you left over four hours ago," Bahorel pointed out. "Jehan was worried after ninety minutes, Courf rang us all after two hours. I mean, it's nearly midnight. You could have been murdered or something. Joly was about to phone the cops and report you missing or something."

"What's up?" Eponine whispered, pulling back and seeing the look of complete and utter dejection on his face. "Combeferre, what happened?"

"She left me," he whispered, only just managing to stop himself from breaking down again. Next thing he knew he was once again in the smaller girl's arms, head buried in her hair as he struggled to keep in the tears.

"...That explains everything," Courfeyrac sighed, pulling Combeferre into a hug once Eponine had moved away again. Combeferre, normally the one everyone went to for comforting, the solid one who always knew the right thing to say in any situation, who never seemed to need comforting himself, just clung to his friend helplessly. "What happened?"

"She's sleeping with him. Hugo."

"The little bitch," Bossuet growled, surprising them all. "Who in their right mind would cheat on 'Ferre?"

"Come on, let's get you some dry clothes before you catch your death of cold," Eponine said softly, Joly nodding frantically in the background. "Jehan? Will you go up with him?" The poet ignored Combeferre's protests, simply taking his hand and heading up the stairs with him. "Fuck," she sighed once he was out of earshot. "This is bad."

"He loved her," Courfeyrac told them all quietly, eyes keep flickering back to the stairs. "He admitted to that early on. Too early, if I'm honest, but I've no doubt he meant it. This is 'Ferre after all. If anyone was going to take things all serious and fall in love too easily, it would be him."

"This will destroy him," Bahorel muttered, glaring at the front door as if Rachael were standing there.

"Not if we don't let it," Eponine said firmly.

"I warned him," Grantaire murmured from his corner, ignoring the looks they all gave him.

"Not helping," Courfeyrac snapped, but Grantaire simply shrugged.

"True though."

* * *

Eponine had insisted on sleeping on their sofa that night. She knew that all the others in the house had either lectures or work the next morning and didn't want Combeferre to be on his own when he was still so crushed.

"How you feeling?" she asked as soon as he entered the kitchen next morning, holding out a mug of coffee which he gratefully accepted. It was surprisingly late for him but the shadows under his eyes along with the exhaustion present in them told Eponine he hadn't slept.

"Shit," he replied honestly, dropping into a seat with a sigh. "I think I'm starting to understand how Grantaire felt though."

"They're both idiots," she said scornfully, passing him a plate of bacon sandwiches. "And I don't care how unhealthy you think these are. They always make people feel better."

"Thanks," he mumbled, tucking in.

When the hesitant knock on the door came, again later than Eponine had been expecting, she refused to let Combeferre answer it, instead forcing him to stay in the kitchen and opening the door instead.

"What the fuck do you want?" she said bluntly, glaring at Rachael who was standing there nervously.

"I need to talk to him."

"Fuck off."

"Just let me see him."

"You broke his fucking heart, now turn around and walk away like the bitch you are." Eponine folded her arms and the glare intensified. "Why aren't you leaving?"

"Because I have to talk to him."

"And I told yo-"

"Eponine, it's fine," Combeferre said tiredly from behind her.

"No it's not fine," Eponine snapped without turning. "She doesn't deserve to get to talk to you after what she did."

"But I do need to talk to her," he sighed.

Rachael had wisely stayed quiet whilst the two friends argued, waiting until Eponine finally gave in and stepped to one side, still glowering at the other woman.

"Alone," Combeferre continued.

"I'll be in the lounge then," Eponine allowed, turning and storming up the stairs.

"Who the fuck does she think she is?" Rachael demanded as soon as Eponine had left, forgetting for a moment why she was there.

"A good friend," Combeferre replied coldly, taking Eponine's place in the doorway so as to still not allow Rachael inside the house. "You wanted to talk to me, now talk."

"'Ferre, I'm sorry," she started, but Combeferre interrupted her, laughing emotionlessly.

"You're sorry? _You're sorry?_ Seriously? You think you can do this then walk in and just say _sorry_?!"

"Well what else would you like me to say? I am sorry!"

"What, that you fucked him or that I found out? How long has this been going on for?" When she said nothing, he shook his head sadly. "God I really was stupid."

"Combeferre..." She sighed. "What exactly do you want me to say? If I could go back and change things then I would, but I can't."

"I really did love you," Combeferre said softly. "Now you need to leave. I've nothing else to say to you. Don't bother coming back." And with that he shut the door in her face.

Turning, he rested his back against the door and sank down to the floor, drawing his knees up to his chest and fastening his arms around them before burying his head. The next thing he knew, there was a pair of arms encircling him and soft lips brushing over his forehead.

"She's not worth it," Eponine whispered. When he looked up at his friend, blinking away the tears that were threatening to fall, she smiled at him. "Plus she's just a selfish idiotic bitch. I mean it. Now, you look like you could do with a drink. Not coffee, a proper drink."

"It's eleven am," he murmured.

"And? Today, you're allowed. So get dressed, we're going out. By the time we reach a decent pub it'll be after lunch, so no problems."

* * *

By the time the clock in the pub reach six, both friends were completely and utterly hammered.

"Fuck her!" Eponine announced finally, holding up her half-empty pint. "Fuck 'em both! Actually, you know what? Don't fuck 'em. Forget her! She ain't worth your time and tears. She's a useless little bitch. Never fuck her again, now there's an idea." She frowned slightly. "I'm rambling aren't I?"

"Am I really so dull?" Combeferre asked, words slurring slightly as he leant over the table towards Eponine. "And... And boring, that she has to fuck him? Am I that bad in bed?"

"No to the first two," Eponine replied, leaning forwards as well, "but I have no idea to the third." Clicking her fingers, she grinned at him. "That's what you need! One-night stand. Helps you forget useless bitches like her. Don't fuck her, fuck someone else."

"Who?" he shrugged, having been drinking for too long to even consider how far from his normal self this was.

"Anyone you like." Eponine spread her arms out and glanced round the pub. "You're a free man. You can hit on any girl you like. It's not like you have to remember her afterwards, she's just going to help you forget the Bitch."

"I've never had a one-night stand."

"That's because you never got laid before her," she pointed out. "Just try flirting with someone."

Standing, Combeferre stumbled and nearly fell, only saving himself by grabbing the table quickly.

"...Or not," Eponine shrugged.

"We should head home," Combeferre muttered, finishing his drink whilst still holding on to the table.

"Mine's closer," Eponine decided, standing herself and taking Combeferre's arm, dragging him out of the building and in the opposite direction to his house.

* * *

Eponine fumbled slightly with the key as she tried to unlock her flat, almost falling into the flat when the door finally opened.

"You should still try for a one-night stand," she told Combeferre once they were settled on the sofa, his arm tucked round her shoulders and head resting on hers. "When less pissed."

"Any girl I like?" Combeferre asked.

"Any."

Moving slightly, Combeferre bent his head and kissed her, softly at first but firmer when she returned the kiss, the arm around her shoulders moving her round to face him more. The kiss grew more heated as clothes were lost, Eponine pushing Combeferre down until they were lying on the sofa, a small smirk playing across her lips.

"Let's make you forget then," she whispered into his ear, kissing him again.

* * *

It was the headache which woke Combeferre first, pounding away like Thor himself was in there somewhere.

"Fuck," he groaned, not noticing he was on a sofa or how close to the edge he was until he'd rolled slightly and landed on the floor. "Fuck," he mumbled again, jumping to his feet and charging into the bathroom.

It was ten minutes before he was conscious enough to realise he was naked and not at home.

Leaning back slightly, he peered back into the lounge, eyes widening when he saw Eponine sprawled over the couch, having spread out as soon as he moved, still fast asleep and in a similar state of undress. Concentrating as hard as he dared with the headache showing no signs of ceasing, he tried his best to remember what had happened the night before, but was forced to draw a blank.

"Fuck," he said for the third time in fifteen minutes, sighing and running a hand through his already-messy hair. Sneaking back into the room, he grabbed his clothes and dressed as quickly and quietly as possible, replying to worried messages from friends demanding where he was with a vague answer when he found his phone.

Seeing the pad of paper by the door Combeferre quickly ripped a sheet out and jotted down a quick note.

_Sorry, gotta go. See you later. C_

Leaving it in plain view, he made his escape.

Later that day, he breathed a sigh of relief when he got the text through.

**Eponine: **_I vaguely remember one-night stands being mentioned, so hope it worked and helped you forget a little. If not, then it was probably fun anyway. See you later._

Combeferre had never been more thankful that he wasn't the only person to have forgotten something.


	3. Heather

It took a couple of weeks of awkwardness before things went back to normal between Combeferre and Eponine. Although both had tried to pretend nothing had really happened, their drunken night together simply wouldn't go away. Combeferre never knew how many hours Eponine spent crying over him with Cosette, the blonde encouraging her friend to just tell him how she felt.

"He'll never feel that way about me," Eponine had sobbed. "It'd be Marius all over again. I mean, he still loves Rachael, and I'm not Rachael."

"No, you're actually nice," Cosette said dryly.

"I meant that she's smart!"

"Not smart enough to not cheat on him and break his heart. You'd never do that."

"No, but I'm just the friend who failed high school and is having to work stupid hours in three different jobs simply to afford rent. I'm not good enough for him."

"As long as you think like that, you won't be," Cosette told her. "As soon as you believe in yourself, you'll be perfect for him. Trust me. You'll see. Besides, it's your own fault for mentioning one-night stands."

"I didn't think he'd choose me!"

"Well he did, so quit complaining and make a move!"

Meanwhile, Combeferre was still moping over Rachael. His heart was starting to heal, but it was a slow process, and every time he found something new of her's in their house he had to work not to break down again. For the first time in the months since Enjolras had left he found himself starting to understand a little of what Grantaire had gone through.

Christmas was made miserable by the two men's moods, both missing the people who had been by their sides the year before. Try as they did to join in the festivities, it wasn't long before Grantaire was longing for a drink and Combeferre staring out of the window, wondering if she was with Hugo.

"Is Combeferre driving anyone else up the wall?" Courfeyrac demanded soon after, looking round the group gathered in their kitchen. He'd called the emergency meeting the moment Combeferre had announced he'd be away at a university conference in London for a couple of days, and all the friends had shown up.

"That depends. Are we talking about the moping and depression, or his habit of quoting philosophers at everyone and being a brainbox? Because we're kinda used to the last one," Bahorel joked, trying to lighten the mood a little.

"The former." Courfeyrac sighed and rested his chin in his hand. "I've run out of ideas. We've tried just about everything we can think of, but he won't listen to us."

"One-night stand," Bahorel said instantly, but Eponine simply shook her head.

"He had one. Didn't work," she mumbled, not meeting anyone's eyes fully.

"Fine, then try hooking him up with someone properly."

"Like a girlfriend?" Courfeyrac clarified, mind already ticking away.

"Exactly like a girlfriend," Bahorel replied.

"Leave it with me," he smiled.

* * *

Combeferre couldn't help but feel annoyed as he waited in the pub for Courfeyrac to show up. Pulling out his phone he sent a quick text asking whether Courfeyrac was going to bother showing up at all that night, sighing as he put it away again.

"Another beer please," he called over to the barman, holding up his empty bottle.

"I'll have the same," a female voice said from beside him and he glanced up at the short-haired blonde who was now occupying the barstool next to him. "Stood up?" she inquired with a sympathetic smile.

"Only by my idiot best friend," he shrugged. "It's something I've grown used to. He's probably just been distracted by something."

"Maybe you should consider getting a new friend to go drinking with, that way you're not stuck sat on your own," she suggested, turning more to face him. Combeferre simply shook his head.

"'Be slow to fall into friendship; but when thou art in, continue firm and constant'," he said quietly, taking a drink.

"That sounds like a quote of some sort, so I'm just going to nod and pretend I know exactly who said it."

"Socrates," he told her.

"Ah, the philosopher. Sadly science and philosophy don't really mix, so that's about all I know of philosophy." She smiled at him again and extended her hand. "The name's Heather by the way."

"Combeferre." They shook as she started speaking again.

"So you clearly know something about philosophy from the fact you're randomly quoting it at me. By the way, the whole quoting philosophy at girls thing... How's that working for you as a technique?" Combeferre couldn't help but laugh.

"'Every action has its pleasures, and its price'," he said, a hint of a smile finally showing on his face. "Though this is the first time I've tried it, so I'll have to let you know."

"With the right girl you might get lucky... Unless you already have the right girl of course," Heather added on quickly. Combeferre's smile faded instantly.

"Not anymore," he said softly.

"Ah. Sorry." Seeing Courfeyrac enter, glance round then head towards them, Heather stood. "I think your friend is here." And with that she left.

"Ooh, hitting on hot chicks already?" Courfeyrac joked lightly, appraising Heather as she walked away. "Well, hot-ish."

"You know, sometimes I wonder if Seneca was right when he said that friendship always benefits," Combeferre commented, rolling his eyes. "I was not hitting on her, we were simply talking. About philosophy if you must know." Courfeyrac pulled a quick face.

"Yeah, definitely not hitting on her. Although, you know what they say - 'The journey of a thousand miles must begin with a single step'."

Combeferre stared at his friend.

"You know, sometimes I forget you do actually have a brain," he commented dryly. "Especially as you so often manage to keep it so well hidden."

"I live to surprise," Courfeyrac grinned. "Now I believe I'm a few drinks behind."

* * *

**Courfeyrac: **_It worked. I was half an hour late, and when I arrived he was chatting up this girl._

**Eponine: **_..._

**Eponine: **_Chatting up? That really doesn't sound like 'Ferre._

**Courfeyrac: **_Well, not so much chatting up as chatting to, but who cares. It's a start._

**Eponine: **_Don't you think we should be giving him time to move on first?_

**Courfeyrac: **_But he's taking too long over it and between the moping from him and Grantaire, someone is going to end up getting murdered before too long._

**Eponine: **_They both got their hearts broken._

**Courfeyrac: **_Yes, but it's been months. They have to move on eventually._

**Eponine:******_You amaze me sometimes. How can you love a poet yet still have the emotional range of an espresso spoon?_

**Courfeyrac:******_Well they do! And I do not love him!_

**Eponine:******_From the deepest desires often come the deadliest hate._

**Eponine:******_Give them time._

**Eponine: **_I mean it._

**Eponine: **_Or I will hurt you._

**Eponine: **_And yeah right._

**Courfeyrac: **_Fine, I'll give them time._

**Courfeyrac: **_And is there anyone in our group who doesn't quote bloody philosophy?!_

**Eponine: **_Blame 'Ferre and Jehan._

* * *

When Combeferre next bumped into Heather it was in the same bar. He was sat in the corner this time, though was once again waiting for Courfeyrac. When the text arrived telling him "something" had come up and Courfeyrac would be later than normal, he sighed and finished his drink, standing to leave.

"Hello again," he heard as he shrugged on his jacket. Combeferre felt a small smile cross his face as he turned to look at Heather. "I was going to ask if this chair was taken, but I'm guessing your friend has stood you up again."

"If we were dating, that would be the case, but we're not. My actual problem is the fact he has a life and therefore forgets he's meant to be meeting me after work. Like I said last time, I'm used to it."

"Well, if you want some company..." she offered.

"That would be nice," he admitted, sitting back down again as she placed her drink on the table. "Look, I should apologise for last time we met. I didn't mean to just quote long dead philosophers at you. It had been a bad day, that's all, and it's just something I occasionally find myself doing."

"Oh that's alright. I rather enjoyed it. Not everyday you learn something new at the pub. In fact, feel free to carry on with the quoting of those long dead philosophers." Smirking, Heather winked at Combeferre. "'I know nothing except the fact of my ignorance' after all."

"I thought you knew nothing about philosophy."

"I may have possibly done some research." She shrugged. "It's actually kinda fascinating, even though I don't understand much, if any indeed any, of it."

"Ah, but that's partly what philosophy is about. Voltaire once said that 'When he who hears does not know what he who speaks mean, and when he who speaks does not know what he himself means, that is philosophy'."

"Yes, but Voltaire also said that 'God is not on the side of the big battalions, but of the best shots'," Heather countered. "Yet that wasn't the case in the failed revolution of 1932, and that was in his own country." She blushed slightly at his appraising look. "That one was in Sharpe."

"And there was me getting impressed," he laughed. "Him saying these things doesn't make him right. After all, 'the only true wisdom is in knowing you know nothing'."

"Then when it comes to philosophy I must be the wisest person on the planet," Heather grinned, Combeferre smiling back.

"According to Socrates, yes. He thought that the wisest man alive was the one who knew only one thing - that they knew nothing. That's probably his most famous quote."

"Yes, I have heard that one before." Heather tilted her head to one side and considered Combeferre. "So you believe that philosophy is when you haven't a clue what you're prattling on about. Why do you do it then? Why study it? At least, I'm assuming you study it."

"I do, and, well, it's hard to explain. I love philosophy because it makes me think. Besides, dubito ergo cogito, cogito ergo sum."

"The last part is I think therefore I am, right?"

"Yeah. In English the entire thing is I doubt therefore I think, I think therefore I am. For me, that's what being human is all about, and is also the very essence of philosophy. Plus the unexamined life is not worth living."

"You really do know far too many of these quotes," she laughed, finally remembering her beer sat on the table and taking a drink.

"I am so so so so sorry I'm late, I was half-expecting you to have left already, I totally blame my boss- oh! Oh god, sorry! I didn't mean to interrupt anything." Courfeyrac changed his tune the second he saw Heather, having simply run over and started babbling as soon as he arrived.

"You're not," Combeferre said quickly, at the same time as Heather stood.

"I need to be leaving anyway. It was nice to see you again," she said with a smile to Combeferre.

"Yeah, you too." He returned the smile as she left.

"Nice chat?" Courfeyrac inquired as he dropped into Heather's now vacant chair.

"We were talking about philosophers," Combeferre replied absently, frowning when he saw Courfeyrac's shocked expression. "What?"

"Dude, you just sat here with a fit girl and discussed philosophers? And then just let her walk away without getting her number or passing yours on or at least kissing her? Or asking her out?" Courfeyrac groaned when Combeferre shrugged.

"And what's the problem with that?"

"The problem with that is that she is clearly interested in you man, and you're acting like an idiot. Yeah, I get that Rachael broke your heart, but not everyone is a bitch like her. Let this one in, you may be pleasantly surprised."

"Courfeyrac, you really should read Socrates at some point." At Courfeyrac's raised eyebrow Combeferre continued. "'Sometimes you put walls up not to keep people out, but to see who cares enough to break them down.' There is no harm in getting to know someone before asking them out. Maybe if I had with Rachael, things wouldn't have ended quite so badly."

"You're talking philosophy. What exactly have you learnt?"

"That she's a scientist," Combeferre replied instantly. "That she's called Heather, and that she actually went away and researched some philosophy after the first time we spoke. Oh, and that she's a fan of Sharpe and knows her French history." He smiled slightly. "And that she has a good sense of humour."

"Next time, just ask for her number," Courfeyrac sighed, deciding it was probably best not to argue with his friend. He knew from experience he could never win.

* * *

The third time Combeferre saw Heather was in the university library. He was just placing his books back onto their shelves when he caught sight of her dropping her bag down by her feet and sliding into a chair, an overly-large textbook already on the desk in front of her.

Deciding to break with the pattern of their previous meetings he headed over, seating himself opposite.

"Hello there," he said softly, scanning down the page. "The statistics of conservational ecology. How fascinating."

"You could at least try and sound interested," she retorted, not looking up.

"Is it interesting?" he asked, continuing to read upside down.

"Not particularly," she admitted with a small smile, glancing up at him. "Not on paper anyway. Actually being out in the field doing it though, that's more fun."

"Ah, so basically the complete opposite of being a philosopher, many of whom sit around and read or write all day," Combeferre joked.

"Absolutely," she grinned. "We have a poster in one of the labs, a quote by Einstein. 'The man of science is a poor philosopher.' That's clearly why - we can't sit still long enough."

"Yes, but philosophy is the science which considers truth according to Aristotle."

Tilting her head to one side, Heather considered him for a moment.

"Then we are both scientists," she decided finally. "And therefore equals. See, in two minutes we managed to solve the rift separating the scientists from the humanities students. We should get a medal or the Nobel Peace Prize or something."

Combeferre couldn't help but laugh at the thought of this.

"Maybe not, but we are definitely equals," he agreed. "Though that could become a problem. I mean after all, once made equal to man, woman becomes his superior."

"Well I'm very glad to hear you know the truth," Heather smirked.

It was that smirk which made him make up his mind. Pulling a scrap of paper from his pocket, Combeferre quickly scrawled down his number as he stood, holding it out to her.

"I've got to go, I have a lecture, but I'll see you round," he said with a soft smile as she took it, pulling his bag back onto his shoulder and leaving, already feeling happier with life.

* * *

**Heather: **_Hi, it's Heather. Not really sure what to say now other than just hi, probably should have looked up a quote or something as that seems to be our "thing". :P Now really hoping you've not given me a prank number or something. So, yeah. Hi. Again. I think I'm just gonna shut up now._

**Combeferre: **_Heather, hey. :) See, not a prank number. -Combeferre_

**Heather: **_So that's how you spell your name? Oh gawd, thank the stars I didn't try and write it in my first text. I think I tried spelling it every way __**but **__that._

**Combeferre: **_I'm almost tempted to ask how you spelt it, but I'm not sure I want to know._

**Heather: **_Trust me, you don't._

**Heather: **_So how's you?_

**Combeferre:******_I'm good. Yourself?_

**Combeferre: **_Oh, and I was going to ask if you wanted to go to a party thing next week? A friend of mine just won a poetry competition so we're celebrating._

**Heather: **_I'm fine, and I'm sorry. I'd love to come, I'm just away all next week on a field trip._

**Combeferre: **_Oh. Well, enjoy your trip._

**Heather: **_I get back on the Sunday morning. We could always meet up sometime the week after? Maybe go to the cinema? There's that big new film out._

**Combeferre: **_Sure, sounds great. :) Tuesday maybe?_

**Heather: **_It's a date. :) See you then._

* * *

Combeferre spent longer than he was willing to admit preparing for the date, picking out his clothes carefully. He knew he'd chosen well when he arrived at the cinema, Heather taking one look at his t-shirt and laughing.

"Discworld. I'm impressed," she smiled.

"Gotta love Detritus and his attempts at philosophy," Combeferre smiled in return. The t-shirt was emblazoned with a picture of the troll in question, the words 'I fink, derefore I am... I fink' printed alongside him, and was one of the best presents Courfeyrac had ever got him.

"You look lovely by the way." If anything her smile widened at that, and Heather gave him a mini-curtsey, making them both laugh.

They headed into the film together, and if by the end they were holding hands, well, that was no-one's business but their own.

* * *

"Sooooooo," Courfeyrac said, dropping into the seat opposite Courfeyrac in their kitchen. "How're things going?"

"I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about," Combeferre replied, ignoring Courfeyrac and continuing to read.

"With Heather, dumbo." Courfeyrac rolled his eyes. "I know you've been seeing her for the past few weeks so, how's it going?"

"Fine," Combeferre shrugged.

"God, you're worse than Enjolras ever was!"

"You ready to graduate?" Combeferre asked calmly.

"Now don't you try and change the subject! 'Fine' is not a decent way to talk about how your relationship is going, unless the relationship is going nowhere. So, you gonna answer me? Is it going nowhere? Or is it going well?"

"It's going well."

"Well, or well?"

"Courfeyrac, will you just quit with all the questions?" Combeferre snapped, finally losing his temper with his friend's incessant questioning. "It's my life, okay? You don't have to know everything."

"Fine," Courfeyrac accepted, holding up his hands in surrender. "I'll leave you to it. But if you need any help or advice, you know where to come."

"Yeah, to Jehan," Combeferre murmured, though the small smile he gave his friend told Courfeyrac he was only joking.

* * *

"So when do I get to meet all your friends?" Heather asked one night, kissing idly at Combeferre jaw as they lay together in her bed.

"We're having a graduation party for Courfeyrac next week. Fancy coming?" Combeferre suggested, pulling her closer and resting his cheek against the top of her head.

"I'd love to," she smiled, closing her eyes as she started to drift off to sleep.

"Hey. Hey, you can't go to sleep yet, I need to get up."

"Let yourself out," she said sleepily, burrowing into the pillow as Combeferre managed to extract his arm from under her.

"Charming," he laughed, kissing her cheek as he stood and started to dress. "It's on Friday. I'll text you details."

When the night of the party came, both Combeferre and Heather felt nervous when he went to pick her up. "It'll be fine," he whispered, kissing her cheek lightly. "They're going to love you."

"Heather!" Courfeyrac cheered when they arrived at the house, clearly already having started on the drinking.

"Nice to finally meet you," Jehan said with a smile, heading over to the pair and introducing himself. "Here, let me introduce everyone."

Combeferre simply stood there and laughed quietly as Jehan managed to sweep his girlfriend off around the room to meet all of his different friends. That was when he noticed Eponine, practically hiding in a corner as she nursed her bottle of beer quietly.

"Not like you to stay tucked away like this," he said softly, sitting next to her and offering a new drink.

"I'm tired," she lied smoothly. "So that's your girlfriend."

"Yes, that's Heather."

Eponine studied her from a distance, watching how she interacted with everyone and, much as she wanted to hate her, she found that she couldn't, not in the way she'd disliked Rachael.

"She seems nice," she said reluctantly, only just hiding that reluctance from Combeferre.

"Well I'm very glad to here it," he smiled, giving her a quick one-armed hug. "Don't hide back here all night, okay?" And with that, he headed over to Heather, managing to steal her back from Jehan.

"I like all your friends," Heather said with a smile, leaning up and kissing Combeferre almost chastely on the lips.

"They like you," Combeferre replied. "I'm glad."

"Why Monsieur Combeferre, that sounds like you want things to continue in a serious manner for a while," she teased.

"Well maybe that's what exactly what I want." Bending, he whispered in her ear, "Stay here tonight."

Heather shivered slightly at the idea but smiled nonetheless. They'd had sex, yes, but this would be the first time they'd slept together the whole night.

"Of course I will," she murmured in reply, kissing him again.

* * *

"Jesus Christ Jehan, what are you wearing?!" Combeferre cried as Jehan skipped into the kitchen on Christmas day, Heather simply looking up from her cereal and bursting out laughing at the green and red monstrosity Jehan was wearing.

"It's a jumper," Jehan announced. "And it was a present."

"From who? Stevie Wonder?" Heather asked incredulously as she stood and placed her bowl in the sink.

"My mother."

"Then the two of you clearly have very similar fashion sense," she decided, kissing his cheek as she passed.

"And where are you going?" Combeferre inquired, leaning back in his chair as she headed for the door.

"For a shower." Trailing her fingers up his arm as she neared him, Heather leant down and kissed him. "See you soon," she whispered with a small smirk.

"If you have sex in our shower, Feuilly will never forgive you," Jehan warned.

"He'll live," Combeferre said absentmindedly, clearing his plate as fast as he could before following his girlfriend. Pausing in the doorway he glanced back. "Oh yeah. Merry christmas."

Jehan shook his head and went back to making his own breakfast. Over the past six months the other four inhabitants of the house had gotten used to Heather being around at all times of the day, though none of them would ever get used to the idea of Combeferre regularly getting more than any of them.

"Morning 'Taire," he said cheerfully when Grantaire slouched into the room, looking worse than ever. "What's up?"

"I can't see him," Grantaire mumbled, flopping down into a chair and dropping his head into his hands. "When I close my eyes, I can't see him."

"Who? Enjolras?" Jehan sighed when Grantaire nodded. "'Taire, maybe it's for the best...Or not," he amended, seeing Grantaire's expression. "Try using some context. Like, try and remember a particular event or something. If that doesn't work, then just forget him. You'll feel better for it in the end, trust me."

"Thanks," Grantaire muttered, rubbing at his eyes tiredly. "Hey, happy Christmas mate."

"Yeah, happy Christmas to you too. Oh, and I would suggest not using the bathroom for a while. Ah, 'Ferre went up there for a shower, and he may not have been alone."

"Thanks for the warning."

* * *

"Have you told her yet?"

Combeferre jumped when he heard the words, not even having seen Jehan enter the library.

"Have I told her what?" he inquired, setting his pen down.

"That you love her silly."

"No. We're taking things slow."

Jehan sighed.

"'Ferre, it's been a year since you met her. I think you've succeeded in taking things slowly. Tell her now, before you graduate and have to start looking for jobs, because if you have to even consider working in a place outside of town then you both need to know how the other feels."

"Jehan, you're being ridiculou-"

"Am I?" the poet interrupted. "Me and Courf have already had a similar discussion because while he has work here, I may not find any. Just talk to her."

And with those final words still ringing in Combeferre's ears Jehan left him alone to his thoughts.

* * *

"Congratulations!" Heather squealed, throwing her arms round Combeferre. Laughing, he swung her round, kissing her deeply before setting her back on her feet again. "You never said you were graduating with a First!"

"It didn't seem that important. I mean, so are Jehan and Joly. You did when you graduated."

"Ah yes, but I then went back to university in a different place. You aren't doing, which makes this incredibly important for you. Now I think your friends are waiting for us, so come on. Bahorel and Courf have been planning this party for weeks."

"Wait," he said softly, catching her hand to stop her from walking away. "I love you," he whispered.

"I love you too," she replied, a bright smile suddenly filling her face. "I love you too."

Neither knew that Eponine was standing nearby, hearing every word they both said.

* * *

"He told her he loves her, and she said it back," Eponine sobbed to Musichetta and Cosette the next day over coffee, both her friends looking sympathetic as they listened. "I've no chance now."

"I did warn you to make a move," Cosette sighed.

"What do I do?" Eponine asked helplessly, looking from one to the other.

As the trio sat there trying to think up anything which could help her (well, anything other than Musichetta's instant reply of "get laid"), they were greeted by someone they hadn't expected to see.

"Hey guys, I didn't know you came in here for drinks."

"We normally don't," Musichetta replied to Heather, turning in her chair and smiling up at the other woman. "However I fancied a day off and I can never get one in my cafe, so here we came."

"Are you okay Eponine?" Heather asked suddenly, noticing the tear streaks on the other woman's face.

"Fine," Eponine lied wth a weak smile.

"Relationship trouble," Cosette offered as an explanation when Heather lifted one eyebrow.

"Ah," Heather said sympathetically. "Well I'll see you all round anyway, I have to get to work. I hope things work out for you Eponine."

"No you don't," Eponine muttered as Heather walked out of the cafe. "Well she doesn't!" she protested when she saw the looks on her friends' faces. "If she did then she'd be losing the guy she loves, and she's hardly going to want that."

"Well you can let her win, or you can fight for him. It's up to you."

* * *

Eponine almost did take Musichetta's advice to fight for him, until she actually arrived at the house and saw the couple sat together in the garden. Both were lying in the grass, Heather's head nestled on Combeferre's lap as he played with her hair, a soft smile on his face. At that moment Eponine changed her mind. She might care for Combeferre, but enough that she didn't want to cause friction between them and lose him as a friend. The fact that he'd fallen for Heather, even more than he had for Rachael, was obvious the second you saw them together.

As the months passed they grew even closer, taking things slowly at first but eventually reaching the point where they were almost always together, whether at her flat or his house, and by Christmas they were considering taking the next step.

"I have to leave my flat this summer," she sighed on Christmas Eve as they prepared for bed. "I'm hopeful I can find a job quickly enough, or finding the money to pay for a new place could be interesting."

"We could try and find one together," Combeferre suggested hesitantly, glancing over at her. "I mean, I can't live here forever, and I have good jobs with the cafe and the library archives - jobs I shouldn't lose, fingers crossed."

"...That would be nice," Heather replied with a small smile, leaning over the bed to kiss him lightly.

"We've plenty of time to find somewhere," he smiled back, pulling her closer for a proper kiss as she moved back again.

"True," she murmured against his lips. "I love you."

"And I you."

* * *

"Tell me," Combeferre started one night when the days were starting to get warmer again, tracing patterns on Heather's arm as he spoke, "why did you agree to go out with me? I mean, I was just some crazy guy who seemed to only quote philosophers whenever talking to you. If I were you, I wouldn't have said yes to me."

"Because someone much cleverer than me once said that three things tell a man: his eyes, his friends and his favourite quotes." Heather smiled up at the ceiling. "Your quotes intrigued me, made me interested enough to come and talk to you again. They made you different from all the idiots that have tried to chat me up over the years. Your friends added to the idea that you were different. Courfeyrac seemed honestly surprised to see you with me the second time we met, making me realise that you clearly weren't accustomed to picking up girls in bars... Or rahter, if you were, then he knew nothing about it." Combeferre laughed at that.

"And my eyes?" he asked quietly.

"Ah, your eyes. Your eyes won me over." Pushing herself up onto one elbow, Heather gazed down into his eyes, cupping the side of his face with one hand as she did so. "Eyes are the windows to the soul, right? Well, your eyes told me everything I needed to know. They told me you were kind, caring, and loving. That you were hurt, in pain of some sort. That you were friendly and liked to laugh and smile, though you don't always show it. How you can be so serious and intense, but also scared, though I'm not entirely sure what of."

"I was scared of loving someone," he admitted softly, leaning up to kiss against the corner of her mouth. "I'd just gone through a bad breakup and she broke my heart, and I was scared of letting someone that close again."

"Except you let me in."

"You pulled me in," he whispered. "You didn't give up on me. You stuck with me, even though it took me a while to let you in."

"It was worth it," she decided, kissing him properly. "I love you."

"And I love you all the more for it," he finished, smiling up at her.

"Well then, this is probably a good time to tell you I found a flat." Heather couldn't help but smile when Combeferre sat up excitedly. "Now it's only four rooms but I thought the spare bedroom could be converted into a study, considering the amount of work we end up doing between us. It's not too expensive either, and it's in a good area of town, not too far from the library where you work. All in all, it seems a good place."

"We'd best go look at it sometime," he replied, eyes sparkling with excitement at the idea of their own home.

"The appointment with the owners is tomorrow. No time like the present and all that."

"I can't wait."

* * *

The flat really was perfect for them both, with views from the bedroom window which had both Combeferre and Heather joking that they'd never get up in a morning if they had the option of looking at that.

As it drew nearer and nearer to Heather's graduation date they accepted the flat and started moving their things across, until both their rooms continued only the bare necessities needed to live.

The actual day of her graduation dawned sunny, and Heather beamed across as Combeferre as she received her PhD.

"Well well well, Dr. Logano," he smiled after the presentation, bending to kiss her. "Congratulations on officially making me feel young."

"I'm only a year and a half older than you," she protested, rolling her eyes. "The way you were speaking then, you'd think I was ancient."

"Only compared to Eponine," he teased, Eponine being the official "baby" of the group.

"Oh shush. Now come on, I believe you're driving me home for the party."

"To our home," he corrected, smiling. "That sure does sound good."

* * *

He knew it wasn't good the second he entered their flat and saw her sat at the kitchen table, papers out in front of her.

"Why is it," he started, hanging his coat up before heading over to join her, "that bad news always seems to be given in the kitchen?"

"I don't know," she replied softly, not meeting his eyes.

"Okay, so shoot. Fire away. Hit me with it. What's happened?" Combeferre simply sounded resigned as he waited for the news.

"I got a job offer."

"Well that isn't so bad," he commented, sitting opposite and taking her hands in his. "What's the job?"

"Chief Statistical Marine Biologist. It's my perfect job really, I can't believe I got an offer so young.

"So what's the snag?" Combeferre asked quietly, part of him already knowing the answer.

"It's not exactly nearby. I'd have to move. I mean, I know we only just got this place, but this job is perfect."

"Where?" Combeferre interrupted. "Where is the job?"

"Australia."

Combeferre found himself at a loss for words and so instead just stared at his girlfriend.

"For how long?" he asked finally, voice dull and quiet.

"Pretty much permanently. The most we can manage is a few weeks holiday at a time back here."

"A few weeks?!"

"I'm not asking you to wait," she reassured him quickly. "Or try and keep this going long distance, because A, that never works, and B, we'd only see each other for about eighteen days a year."

"So this is it," Combeferre said sadly, resting his hand on top of Heather's. "The end."

"No! Come with me," she pleaded. "Move out there with me! We've already moved in together here, it's not that much of a bigger step."

"It kind of is!" Combeferre protested.

"Please," she interupted. "I love you baby, I really do."

"I love you too," he sighed. "And I don't want to lose you, but I can't move to Australia. I just can't," he continued, holding up one hand to silence her as she opened her mouth to interrupt. "Because this is my home. Not just this town, but this country. I still love England that bit to much to leave her yet."

"So this is it," Heather said, fighting back her tears. "Love doesn't get the happy ending after all. If I accept the job that is."

"Accept the job. I insist." Once again, Combeferre refused to listen to all her arguments. "Accept the damn job Heather! It's perfect for you. If you end up back here, maybe look me up, come say hi."

"Always," she promised, leaning over to kiss him.

* * *

Tears were shed on both sides when the day came for her to leave.

"I still love you," she told him with a sigh, stopping kissing Combeferre long enough to rest her forehead against his. "If I thought I'd get an opportunity like this again then I wouldn't go, but I don't."

"Well it's too late for you to back out now," he murmured, sneaking in one last kiss before laughing quietly. "Will you look at the pair of us. Both crying like there's no tomorrow. Hopeless, the both of us."

"Don't cry because it is over," Heather whispered, and Combeferre gave a small smile as he finished the quote off.

"Smile because it happened."

"I love you," she repeated, tracing his face with her fingertips one last time.

"Go have fun," he told her, stepping back.

"Don't forget me?" Heather asked as her new supervisor called her over and she started to walk away towards him as slowly as she could, constantly looking over her shoulder back at Combeferre as she went.

"Never!" he called after her with a wave.

Combeferre stayed at the edge of the small runway until the plane had taken off and was out of sight, only then turning and trudging back towards his car.

"Well fuck," he mumbled to himself.


End file.
